


Bad Rap

by BilletDoux



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 09:42:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6369829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BilletDoux/pseuds/BilletDoux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank Castle has learned a lot of things about Matt Murdock in the past couple of months.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Rap

**Author's Note:**

> SO HOW ABOUT THAT SEASON TWO EH GUYS?  
> HA HA. HAAA.  
> I wrote this at 1 am, it's only saving grace is that Natalie edited for me out of the kindness of her heart.  
> This is a ship that deserves more fluffy shit I think? Probably?

“Frank.”

“Yeah, Red?”

“Your dog.”

“What about her?”

“What breed is she?”

Frank Castle had learned a lot of things about Matt Murdock in the past couple of months.  
Foremost, he was Daredevil. The epiphany had come when he had tried to show Daredevil some map of uptown Manhattan -- something that Frank now joked was Matt's one true foil to his secret identity. Matt also tried to tell Frank not to beat himself up so hard over the inability for him to connect the dots, because not many would assume a blind man capable of vigilante justice.

Secondly, Matt was more genuine than any lawyer should be. His character dripped with unbridled authenticity. It was refreshing in a world that lied so much, slapped on some bullshit excuse in any attempt to carry forward with their own agenda. He was undoubtedly stupid, truly, but with a good heart.

Thirdly, Matthew Murdock was undoubtedly broken. Not in a way that seemed visible immediately, but any nut sack that dressed up in red leather to kick the shit out of people had some kind of inner demons he was battling.  
Matt had this ability to be fiercely terrifying, skirting a thin line that used just enough force to detain an adversary, but the amount of broken bones Frank witnessed in his wake shook him if only in a metaphorical sense. If anything, they had gotten strangely close to one another. Shared experiences of loss was a great bonding tool it seemed, and it seemed as though they had more things in common with one another than they previously had assumed, even though the two of them still did not truly “see eye to eye on the matter of vigilante justice.” (Matt enjoyed using that phrase in jest because he knew that type of humor got Frank to smile, even if Frank refused to admit to it.)

Fourthly, and most importantly, Matt had the ability to make Frank _smile_. This witchcraft absolutely dumbfounded Frank. Matt's smart-ass quips, the way he spoke and moved and _existed_.  
Matthew Michael Murdock was a ray of sunshine in the middle of a dark cave.

And now Frank watched him, sitting in sweatpants and a t-shirt on the floor of his dingy one bedroom apartment, early afternoon sun dancing off his hair like a halo as he gently scratched the head of his dog.

“She's a pit bull.”

“Sweet girl. They get a bad rap.”

“Yeah. I know it, Red.”


End file.
